


Dinner?

by undochaos



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undochaos/pseuds/undochaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt given on tumblr:<br/>"F!Trevelyan/Vivienne, Trevelyan trying to ask Vivienne to dinner"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner?

"Vivienne? Do you have a moment?"

The mage looked up from her correspondence at the dark-haired woman in her doorway. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Making a quick mental note of which nobles merely needed a push in the right direction to support the Inquisition and which she would need to contact a bardmaster about, she stored the letters in their proper drawer and stood from her desk.

"Just Mallory, please," the Inquisitor said. "Care to take a walk with me?"

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “Just a walk?”

"Just a walk," she confirmed, nodding.

"A walk is a bit of an odd pastime when the world is burning, no?" she challenged, doing her best to hide her smile.

Mallory gave a small smile of her own. “Well, Bull is in the mess trying to teach Cole to belch the Chant of Light, so we could always join them,” she suggested.

Vivienne’s smile broke through at that. “A walk it is, then.”

In the last weeks of Cloudreach, the many flowers and bushes around Skyhold Keep’s courtyard—most of which they had Cassandra to thank for planting and tending—were slowly beginning to bloom, fragile petals peeling away from their buds. No matter how hard Vivienne tried to pretend otherwise, this was still Ferelden, and the flowerbeds were littered with uninvited Andraste’s Grace. She would have a gardener remove them, but Leliana might actually kill her.

As they walked, Mallory remained more or less silent, watching her feet and gnawing on her lip as though she were in deep thought. It may have worried Vivienne, but the Inquisitor was a hesitant person, with many reservations. A side effect of being raised in a Free Marches court, no doubt.

Eventually, though, waiting for her to speak grew tiring, and Vivienne’s patience caved in the face of her curiosity. “Silver for your thoughts, Mallory?”

That got her to look up, at least. “Silver? You mean copper?”

"No," Vivienne replied, a shrug in her tone if not on her shoulders. "What troubles you, Inquisitor?"

Mallory huffed, dropping her eyes to the ground again. She spent some time struggling for words, her mouth dropping open and then slowly falling shut again, scrunching her face in frustration. Definitely a side effect of being raised in a Free Marches court, Vivienne thought as she waited for the woman to gather herself.

"I… would like to ask someone to dinner. But I’m not sure exactly what their reaction would be, and I am rather inexperienced," she finally said, speaking slowly and choosing her words carefully. "I wondered if you could offer advice on the matter."

Vivienne was not born yesterday, and she knew up from down and black from white. More importantly, she had eyes, which allowed her to see the way the Inquisitor had lunged several meters, like a woman possessed, and  _threw_  her coat down over a puddle of mud in the mage’s path several days ago. She knew who the “someone” Mallory spoke of was.

But the Inquisitor was like a frightened animal in everything but battle, and Vivienne was not about to spook her into running off with a direct call-out. So she decided she would play along. She motioned for them to continue walking, and looked ahead as she began to speak.

"You said you were inexperienced." Mallory nodded, wringing her hands. "You are a noble lady of the Free Marches, and you have your charm. You’ve sincerely never asked someone to dinner?"

"I—" Mallory cut herself off, sighing deeply. "It is not done," she said simply, with an undertone of shame and regret. "I was… it is not done."

"I see," Vivienne replied. She didn’t press; the shorter woman’s tone said it all. She’d probably had a husband picked out for her before she could write her own name.

"So, about that advice?"

"Of course. I am a mage of the Circle, so I don’t have as much experience as some would with this, but I think I can offer some help."

She stopped and bent over a flowerbed, plucking a fully-bloomed Blood Lotus. Straightening back up, she crossed one leg behind the other and gave a slight bow, offering Mallory the flower. The woman’s cheeks turned every bit as red as the blossom as she accepted it.

"I would say be charming," Vivienne began, continuing their path through the courtyard, "but you seem to have that under control."

The blush on Mallory’s cheeks flared and darkened, and the warrior fought to contain the embarrassing litany of declarations that threatened to spill out. Finding no reason to hide it, Vivienne let her self-satisifed smirk show proudly on her face at her reaction.

"Be firm. Not entitled, that’s likely to bring you grave injury, but firm. Confident. A lady likes someone who is self-assured and willing to speak up."

Mallory started sputtering at that. “I—how would—I never said they were a woman! I could be asking anyone.” There was no conviction in her voice at all, and Vivienne fixed her with a doubtful—and somewhat judgmental—look. Her cheeks were practically the color of black cherries from the blood still filling her face. “Alright, so it’s a lady,” she mumbled.

"And an exemplary one, judging by how flustered you are," Vivienne replied. "Try to figure out her tastes if you can, if it  _must_  be dinner. Ask her acquaintances if you don’t already have an idea. Look at where they’re from. Orlesians like elaborate food with rich tastes, Antivans like spices, Fereldans like crimes against the culinary arts, Nevarrans tend to like anything you can drizzle chocolate over. You should always ensure that she will be able to eat the dinner you treat her to.”

They were nearing the end of the walkway and the door back into another part of the Keep. Mallory was dragging her feet, obviously reluctant to end their walk, and Vivienne slowed her own strides as she grabbed for another piece of advice.

Finally, she happened upon one, and turned to the Inquisitor. “Dress up. Do something nice with your hair.”

Mallory nodded. “That’s it?”

"That’s all I can offer, at least. Good luck, my dear." With that, she slipped through the door and back into the Keep.

Several hours later, the night had set in. Vivienne had long returned to her desk, sorting out her mail and smoothing out issues, hard at work securing support for the Inquisition from the clout of Orlais. A handkerchief sat off to the side on her desk, covered in small streaks of blood from already-healed paper cuts. 

It was a familiar routine, and the situation seemed all the more familiar when a voice called from the other side of the door:

"Vivienne? Do you have a moment?"

She stood quickly— _perhaps a little too quickly_ , she thought, embarrassed by her eagerness—and moved to answer the door.

Of course, behind it stood Mallory, but the sight of the warrior took Vivienne’s breath away for the barest of moments. She had obviously taken her advice, wearing her formal finery in her house’s colors and her coarse dark hair worked into an elaborate updo. She even wore rouge and lip stain, and ruby red lips smiled wide at Vivienne with a confidence she rarely saw out of Mallory.

"Dinner?"

"Of course, Inquisitor."

"Just Mallory, please."


End file.
